As traditions exist in families and in cultures, so true is this existence in the Italian heritage. My family is steeped in traditions- some cherished, some dreaded, others just our unique daily routine.
I am known, quite proudly I may add, as an Italian Princess. I am the youngest in my family with three older, over-protective and over-bearing brothers. I remain on a pedestal throughout all family events and always the center of all family photos. Family events could not begin until I, the princess, would arrive. I am the godmother to many within and out of our core family. My imaginary crown is often a joke at family events, as too my royal duties and obligations. Within the Italian culture, all understand the status of the Princess and the power she holds. Outsiders just look at us with confession to its mire existence.
Men often believe, as women often let them, that they truly are the head of the family. As "we" all know it is the women; the mothers and daughters who truly control, guide and exist as all powerful. We need not shout this from omuntain tops or beat on your chests proclaiming this fact. It is a fact known as truth in the hearts and souls of all who we love. And all who love us silently bow to this power.
The passing of the rings is the hardest most honored tradition bestowed upon a princess. It occurs at the most difficult moment in a family's life or history. A moment like no other, not recorded with photos or cards. This is quiet, somber moment the echoes throughout a thousand years of a family. This is a short moment in which the rings are passed from a mother to a daughter.
The rings I speak of are my mother's wedding rings. Rings she wore for 55 years. Rings she wore as she bathed us as small children. Rings she wore as she made meatballs for the family Sunday meal. Rings I seldom if ever saw absent from her left hand. The rings which circle, engulf, unite, and mend our family with the strength of raging bulls or gentle doves. Rings which are the reason this family was created.
In a moment, just a moment, during the heart wrenching death of my mother; a royal ceremony must be preformed. Upon my arrival to my parent's home, I was greeted by my father and brothers. Without trumpets or glory and in the simple, yet meaningful palace of my mother's kitchen the ceremony begins. My father places my mother's wedding rings on my right hand. He gently hugs me and kisses each cheek which are now wet with tears. Then my brothers follow him in that tradition and they too gently hug and kiss each cheek.
In a moment, the proud princess removes her imaginary crown and exchanges it for the realization of the rings and of that family tradition. Rest in peace mother, our queen; your reign has ended yet your love lives on in our hearts, our family, your grandchildren, great grandchildren and so on- forever.
Happy Birthday Mom on what would have been your 81st birthday. Today was a very hard day in my life and I so wish you were still here. I love you Mommy.
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